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“It’s Paavak,” he said with a proud edge, shaking my hand. “Paavak Chauhan.”
“Henri Mercer.”
His lips twitched. “And you’re not a cop.”
“Better.” I grinned and broke the shake. “I have no laws I need to follow and already have blood on my hands. What’s a little more?”
Stepping into me, his voice dropped to a quieter whisper. “When the time comes to kill Victor…I-I want that right.”
My eyes flared. “Fine.”
“In that case…” Stepping back, he nodded at the cook beckoning us to hurry. “So far, we’ve made twenty-three small bombs and hidden them in the bedrooms that aren’t used. We’re on track to making eighty of the damn things, including a few sketchy ones that Mollie doesn’t want to make but Rachel says are needed if we want to cause structural damage. We have a few cleaners on our side and most of the jewels. We haven’t told the new slaves yet for obvious reasons. We have two gardeners working for us and most of the kitchen staff. And are currently trying to figure out what guards could be turned. If you can get a guard or two on our side, then it would mean we had a few guns for when the time comes.”
He gave me a weary look. “That reminds me. The night of the treasure hunt, Ily and I overheard Master L—Larry—say that he has a guard on retainer and plans on killing you with their gun.”
“Wait, what?”
“Keep your wits about you and stay alert. Not sure who he’s bribed, but…I’ll let you know if I find out anything more.”
“Gee thanks.”
His eyes got shifty as he glanced around the kitchens. “Joyero will be busy until Christmas, especially now that Victor has allowed his guests back. We need you to keep him distracted. Listen if he starts making noises about anything we’re doing. If he sounds suspicious or gives you any reason to think he’s onto us, let us know immediately.”
My heart thudded painfully. “You’re planning on blowing the place up?”
He nodded. “Christmas Day Victor will be here, mostly alone. A few stragglers will be here too—those without a family or kids to entertain on the big day. We’ll have all the presents go off at noon. And then…we just have to hope.”
Shit.
I didn’t speak, absorbing the mess he’d just described.
Fidgeting, Peter asked quietly, “So…what do you think of the plan?”
Yes, the plan.
I had a fuck ton of issues with it.
I’d read enough books to know that the grand plans of attack and surprise never went like the characters expected them to.
Especially a ragtag bunch of people who had no experience in war.
I exhaled hard. “Want my honest opinion?”
“I don’t know…do I?”
“I’m assuming by bombs you mean smoky things that have to be lit by hand? Little fire starters that are more of a nuisance than catastrophic?”
“We’ve got all the usual household cleaning supplies. Diesel and petrol from the different generators and Styrofoam that Rachel says will make—”
“Homemade napalm.”
His eyebrows knitted together. “You know how to make it too?”
“I read. And if you intend on setting yourself on fire along with the entire island, then sure, make that. Napalm spreads in a second, melts even stone, and cannot be put out.” I struggled with another wash of despair. The waves weren’t as thick now that Ily and I had talked, but I still suffered beneath the crushing, miserable weight.
Especially now.
Especially now that I’d heard their plan and came face to face with the very real notion that…there was no plan.
